


thin lines that splintered my ground

by averita



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6679162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/pseuds/averita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cat crosses her arms, looking nearly bored, so perfectly comfortable in her own silent space. It makes Kara ache a little. The confidence that she has as Supergirl has started to bleed into her daily life, but sometimes she still feels like she’s holding all of the pieces of herself together with sheer force of will." Cat and Kara have a conversation post-finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thin lines that splintered my ground

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Delicate" by Kina Grannis.

Kara hears Cat long before she sees her, the delicate, purposeful strides as familiar as her own heartbeat. Cat's shadow is long and dark in this little office, nearly reaching Kara’s desk from where she leans against the doorframe.

“Have you found any candidates to be the new Kiera?” she asks glibly, a thin finger tracing up and down her own arm. Kara bites back a smile.

“Several,” she replies, leaning back in her chair. “I’ll be meeting with the first batch tomorrow to start weeding through them.” Privately, she plans on keeping most of those names on file - she has a strong suspicion that the first time won’t be the charm. Probably not the second or third, either.

“And have you given any thought to what you might like to do in here?” Cat probes, looking deliberately around the small space. It’s unlike most of the offices in CatCo - no window-walls or frosted glass - but Kara likes it. It feels comfortable. She’s already thinking about which paintings would go well, and where she might be able to find a couch to fit into the alcove. The privacy - well, that’s just another benefit.

It’s close to Cat’s office, too. That matters more than it should.

“Lots of thought,” Kara admits, “but you said I could have a few days, right? Because I’m still - you know, processing.”

“Hmm,” Cat murmurs, but doesn’t argue. “Yes. No rush.” She takes another step inside, pulling the door behind her so that it’s nearly closed, and the space that had seemed overwhelming suddenly feels much smaller. 

“Don’t worry,” Kara assures her, a hint of nervous laughter in her voice. “I’ll figure it out soon.” Chop chop, she nearly adds, but isn’t sure how that would go over. _Strictly professional,_ she hears in the back of her head - _boss, employee. That way nobody gets confused, nobody gets hurt._

That didn’t last very long. She thinks of Siobhan, of _assistant number two_ and leftover lattes and a dimly lit balcony, and isn’t sure it took at all. 

Cat doesn’t respond but also doesn’t seem inclined to move. She crosses her arms, looking nearly bored, so perfectly comfortable in her own silent space. It makes Kara ache a little. The confidence that she has as Supergirl has started to bleed into her daily life, but sometimes she still feels like she’s holding all of the pieces of herself together with sheer force of will. 

“Did you need something?” she asks nervously after a long moment, the stillness of the moment becoming disconcerting. She clenches and unclenches her fists, making a conscious effort to stay seated. “I mean, I’m happy to stay at my old desk until I’ve found someone -”

“You worry too much, Kiera,” Cat tells her exasperatedly, and Kara snaps her jaw shut. “I am perfectly capable of managing a day or two without an assistant.” 

“Right,” Kara mumbles, rolling back slightly in her chair. She must have a look on her face, because Cat rolls her eyes and stalks forward.

“Kiera -” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “ _Kara_. I meant what I said, you have a bright future ahead of you, but part of that is going to mean finding a balance between what is required of you and what you _believe_ is expected of you.” Her gaze sharpens, an edge to these last words that softens as she continues. “If I need something from you, I will ask.” She pauses and curls one hand along the edge of Kara’s desk. “And I expect you to do the same.”

“You do?” Kara asks before she can stop herself. Cat rolls her eyes again, but this time Kara sees the twitch of her lips. 

“I do,” she confirms, allowing Kara’s dumbfounded silence to hang in the air for a long moment before clarifying, “to ask, that is. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

It’s a little late for that. This conversation feels a little dangerous, charged, like so many of their conversations lately. Kara’s stomach swoops and flutters, nerves tingling, fingertips numb as she clutches the arms of her chair so tightly they begin to give. Cat’s lips twitch again, the little lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth deepening - Kara mentally traces them the way she used to trace constellations in the sky, and with a sudden surge of daring, she blurts out, “Then I have a question."

Cat inclines her head slightly, palm resting flat against the desk’s surface. “Why now?” Kara demands, leaning forward, riding this wave of confidence. “Why promote me now?”

The question hangs in the air, innocent, but the bigger question beneath is almost tangible. That one has been hanging there for awhile, Kara thinks as those lines on Cat’s face tighten. She’s not smiling now - no, it’s a different kind of tension, carefully controlled, like the long breath that the older woman lets out. Kara holds her own.

“You have sacrificed a great deal for your job,” Cat finally says, straightening and holding her shoulders tightly. “I’m not blind to that.” 

She sounds weary, and the heaviness in the air deflates. It’s better this way, Kara knows - better than letting it build and grow until it bursts - but the strain of hurt in Cat’s voice makes her ache. 

Kara’s not blind either. She has seen Cat every day for two years. She has seen her with her feet on her desk and her glasses in her mouth, the sharp lines of her against the sunset, the badly concealed bags under her eyes on bad days and the bright delight that shines through them when a story comes together. She has seen countless necklaces, tight skirts and high heels, the careful curl of her fingers around a pen or a glass of scotch. She has seen her on magazines and on talk shows, in photos and on Skype, her name on the side of the building that houses the empire she’d built. 

She sees her now, and knows the truth.

Cat doesn’t move as Kara stands, though she tilts her face up to meet Kara’s nervous eyes. Her own soften and grow curious as Kara rounds the desk to stand next to her. “Thank you, Cat,” Kara murmurs, and for the second time in two days, she hugs her. 

Cat huffs out a surprised breath, her heart speeding up and hands flexing at their sides, brushing Kara’s hips. She doesn’t return the embrace but after a moment she relaxes into it - Kara feels the faint flutter of eyelashes against her shoulder as, she suspects, Cat’s eyes drift closed. 

They’re wide open a moment later, though, stunned and glassy when she pulls back and clears her throat. “Well,” she says softly, the word warm and drawn out like honey.

Kara bites her lip, adjusting her glasses nervously. Something about the gesture seems to snap Cat out of the moment - she clears her throat again, louder and more deliberate. “Well,” she repeats, “I’m glad that you’re settling in. We’ll talk tomorrow about those interviews.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant,” Kara replies dutifully, perching herself on the edge of her desk and letting out the breath she'd been holding. 

“And I’ll still be expecting you to get my latte in the meantime,” Cat continues blithely, toying with the neckline of her dress and inching towards the door. Kara bites her lip again, this time in amusement as Cat nods once and claps her hands together like she’s just arrived at an important decision. 

“Of course,” Kara agrees. “Some things aren’t worth sacrificing.”

Cat’s fluster seems to settle at this comment. She pauses with one hand on the doorknob, her gaze soft and lingering, before she lets out a little hum and rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Kiera,” she says, “don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a latte.”

Her footsteps sound lighter as she walks away.


End file.
